


Burn, Baby

by telm_393



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bathing/Washing, Friendship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kidnapping, Major Character Injury, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Presumed Dead, Sensory Deprivation, Sensory Overload, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-02 02:33:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4042435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telm_393/pseuds/telm_393
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daredevil’s been held captive for a few months when The Avengers rescue him. Problem is, Daredevil’s really just a guy named Matt Murdock, and they’re not sure what to do with him. </p><p>(Matt, for his part, is ashamed. He's ashamed that he got himself kidnapped by people who had the ability to break him, and he's ashamed that he broke.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burn, Baby

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after Captain America: The Winter Soldier, in a vague AU where Steve went looking for Bucky and didn't find him and then somehow (through handwaving) all of The Avengers + Sam moved into Avengers Tower. As for Daredevil, this starts a few weeks after the first season ends.
> 
> I wanted to start posting this here because...I might as well.
> 
> This is a fill for this ( http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/725.html?thread=570069#cmt570069 ) prompt on the kink meme.

Lately, Natasha's been vaguely intrigued by New York's latest, greatest vigilante, some guy codenamed Daredevil working Hell's Kitchen. She's grudgingly impressed by his skills, far above those of any other vigilantes working in New York, considering that none of them are even worth mentioning. She wants to know where he got taught how to do what he does and what kind of superpowers (because there may or may not be superpowers) are helping him out, because his abilities go far beyond even those of your average well-trained SHIELD agent. At least, when SHIELD existed. He's sloppy and he's constantly getting knocked down, but he's good.

The others aren't that interested, and Tony had been disapproving of a guy working outside the law like that, especially a guy with methods as brutal as Daredevil's. But Natasha hasn't had much to do lately, so she follows Daredevil's escapades, those that she can read about, and occasionally she studies his moves in the grainy footage she's found. (There's not much, and she can't ever even see the mask up close. Natasha can respect a person who knows how to stay under the radar.)

She's got some informants in Hell's Kitchen, and they tell her when he's gone out, what he's done, what they're able to see of him. Natasha's not too interested in meeting the guy or anything, though she would if she got the chance. Mostly, though, it's just something to follow, his rise and fall. She even kind of hopes that the fall won't come too soon, because he _has_ done some good things in Hell's Kitchen, especially considering that she's not squeamish about his methods. She's done worse, it's not her place to judge.

And then one night he's out working and after that--nothing. Radio silence for weeks.

"It's not normal," she says. "Even when he takes a night off, he's usually back out within three nights, tops."

Tony shrugs and says, "Maybe he just finally got himself killed."

Natasha presses her lips together thoughtfully and then shakes her head decisively. "Something's off about this."

"Maybe he hung up the suit," Sam suggests. "I wouldn't blame him."

"Doesn't make sense. He just got the suit. Either he's dead, he's been injured enough to be sidelined for a long time, or he's been snatched. And I've got a feeling it's the last one."

"Why?" Steve asks.

"Hey," Clint says, tossing a ball up and down. "Don't knock Natasha's gut feelings. She's usually right about this stuff."

So they do some digging. Natasha and Clint out of curiosity, and Tony for fun.

They find out there's been a string of weird disappearances in Hell's Kitchen. A policeman, a veteran, a lawyer, a cashier, a fish vendor. No particular rhyme or reason. Maybe a human trafficking ring, but it doesn't really make sense. The human trafficking rings that operated out of Hell's Kitchen were decimated by Daredevil, and in any case, they'd had a completely different victimology. They'd almost never picked up people well-known enough to be listed as Missing Persons.

"I'd bet anything Daredevil's one of these people," Natasha says. They don't think too much about which one he could be--they're all men, all around the same height and build. Natasha figures that Daredevil's one of these guys (well, maybe not the blind one) and the others were kidnapped so that people couldn't figure out which was which right away.

And then it gets plastered all over the news--Daredevil's mask was found in some alley with a note attached to it: _'Hell's Kitchen's got some new devils now.'_

"He's dead," Sam says when he hears about it. "No way he's not dead."

Steve sighs. "He got in over his head."

"Huh," Natasha says. "Maybe you're right. Shame. He wasn't bad."

And that's the end of it, but Natasha still keeps an ear out about what's going on in Hell's Kitchen. There's a new crime ring running around, the one that's done the kidnappings, most likely. Still small, but they're getting stronger, and they're brutal. They've got no problems killing people. They're not vigilantes, they don't even seem to have a purpose, robbing and beating and terrorizing. Natasha's not sure exactly what they're planning to do when they really get powerful. Right now they just seem like they're causing chaos for the hell of it, and she's got no respect for that.

Sometimes Natasha wanders over to Hell's Kitchen and takes out the worst of them. She's not Daredevil, but she kind of feels for the guy, disappearing just as a new crime wave starts building up.

And then she hears a couple of guys talking one day, saying, "We got him good, didn't we?"

The other guy laughs and says, "He's fun, but he's not gonna be playing hero anymore, not how he is now."

Natasha descends on them, knocks one of the guys out and then pushes the other against a wall with a knife against his throat. "I'm not one for mercy," she hisses. "Tell me where he is."

"Who?" the guy asks, playing stupid.

Natasha pushes the knife in until a thin drop of blood drips down the guy's throat. "Daredevil, asshole. You know exactly who I'm talking about."

"You don't wanna save him," the guy says. "He's as much a criminal as we are."

"Yeah," Natasha says flatly. "Keep telling yourself that. Where is he?"

She threatens and she pushes enough that the guy finally gives up and tells her about the basement deep under a condemned building.

"Thanks," Natasha says, and then she smashes the guy's head against the brick wall and lets him drop to the ground.

She calls 911, and then she calls Clint.

+

So that's how The Avengers end up working an extraction job that's completely different from their usual ones. They generally don't deal with these kinds of criminals, their job focuses on the uncanny.

They're curious about this guy, though, and in any case, they haven't done anything for ages and they're bored.

Taking out a crime ring doesn't seem like a bad deal, honestly, especially since they're nipping it in the bud.

It's easy. They find the gang's hideout, and from there it's not hard to slice through them, leave them unconscious on the ground. They might've been able to subdue one talented person, but there's no way they can even hope to fight five.

They follow the stink of decomposition to the room where the victims must be being held.

Thor forces the door open, and they're greeted by the sight of four corpses, all in varying stages of decomposition, all very clearly tortured to death.

"Jesus," Steve mutters.

And then Natasha sees him, huddled in the corner of the room wearing only bloody boxers (odd, that they let him keep that modesty) and a blindfold that covers half of his face and wraps tightly around his ears, covering them completely. There's a dirty gag in his mouth and a chain around his ankle keeping him attached to the concrete wall. His knees are bent against his chest and his hands are clenched in his hair, and Natasha can see cuts and burns and bruises on his body, both healing and fresh. He's too thin, but not as thin as she'd expect him to be after being held captive for at least three months.

His blindfold is wet. There's blood leaking out of the sides of his mouth. Natasha can see a cut on his arm that she'd bet anything leads to whip marks on his back. His hair is wet, like he's just taken a shower, but tangled all to hell. He's clean-shaven, and there's something off about that. He's shaking so hard it must hurt.

Steve carefully walks towards him and waves Natasha and Clint over.

The guy huddles closer to the wall, like he can sense them. He tries to snarl around the gag. He's still got some fight in him, then.

Steve unties the gag, throws it to the side. The guy starts painfully heaving up bile immediately, and then sucking in huge breaths, letting his head roll back against the wall.

Steve moves his hands towards the blindfold, starts touching it, but the guy really snarls, then.

Steve removes his hands from the blindfold and asks Clint to pick the lock on the clamp around the guy's ankle instead.

Clint eventually gets it open, and he goes to help the guy--Daredevil, this is almost definitely Daredevil, and Natasha can't see him well enough to know which of the guys who were kidnapped he is--but all Daredevil does is huddle closer to the wall, putting his arms up in front of his face protectively.

"We're not going to hurt you," Steve says.

Daredevil breathes shakily. He sounds like he's going to have a panic attack. Steve reaches out to him and he pushes Steve's hands away, shaking his head.

In the end, they have to wait until he passes out before they can take him back to the tower.

+

Daredevil's real name is Matthew Michael Murdock, he's been registered as a missing person for three months and two days, he's been registered as legally blind with no light perception for well over a decade, and Natasha feels like an idiot for immediately discounting him as Daredevil.

"It didn't seem all that likely," Clint says, watching Bruce, who had been waiting in the vehicle along with Sam to airlift Murdock out, shine a light in Murdock's eyes. They don't respond in any way, which isn't a surprise, not after Natasha got a good look at the guy and realized which one of the kidnapped men he was. She's got no idea why they had him wearing a blindfold, then. Maybe to try and block out sound, though the thought of that working is laughable, especially if this guy hears as well as Natasha thinks he might.

"You're deaf," Natasha points out.

"Yeah, but I've got my aids."

"Maybe he's got something that aids him too."

"Super senses wouldn't surprise me," Steve chimes in, still giving Murdock, lying prone on a gurney, a troubled look.

"Yeah," Clint says. "I just couldn't imagine doing that shit without my eyes."

"I bet he couldn't imagine doing it without his ears," Bruce points out as he and Sam check Murdock for broken bones.

Natasha nods in agreement and then asks, "We already call the police?"

"Yeah," Steve says. "Right after airlifting him out. Hopefully that gang won't be bothering Hell's Kitchen anymore. I think we took out the worst of them."

"I thought the Kitchen was full of dirty cops," Clint points out, wincing as one of the wounds on Murdock's chest opens and Bruce swears under his breath ("we need a real fucking doctor"). Sam shoulders Bruce out of the way and starts treating the wound.

"They've been working on it enough that I think we're safe calling them," Natasha says. She sighs, leaning back in her seat. "We can't take him to a hospital."

"Good thing we've got our ward in the tower," Bruce says. "We're not taking him to a hospital, it's too dangerous and he's a wanted man anyway. Besides, I get the feeling he wouldn't be all that pleased."

"I get the feeling he's not gonna be too pleased with anything," Natasha says. She looks at Murdock. He's about her age. She'd thought he was the most handsome out of all of the kidnapped men, but that'd just been a moment of frivolity. Bruce is still ticking off injury after injury. She was right: Murdock's back is covered in a mess of whip marks, and Bruce said something offhand about a rape kit. Natasha's not sure that Murdock's going to be okay with that, but she doesn't expect Bruce to push.

No one's worried about Murdock waking up just yet, considering what Bruce sedated him with.

"What do you think's gonna happen when he wakes up?" Steve muses.

Sam shakes his head. "I have no idea. Considering what I've figured out about his past injuries just by looking at him, the physical injuries aren't gonna keep him down for long. But I have no idea about the psychological repercussions. He's been through the wringer, and we don't even know all the details."

"It's not gonna be pretty," Natasha says. "It never is."

+

_An overpowering sterile smell fabric grating against his arms and legs something soft covering his legs (pants, definitely, definitely) heat signatures one two three four five heartbeats in this room maybe probably the city cries out for help machinery whirs lungs expanding his lungs expanding his breath hitching the erratic beeping of machines in a parody of his heartbeat needles in his brain tearing apart his gray matter--_

_(Dad, I can't see.)_

_The Strangers are coming to get him and he knows it he can feel them except it doesn't make sense right now none of it makes sense it doesn't smell like this he knows it doesn't smell like this--he's losing it, he's losing it, or maybe he's in hell, maybe hell smells like a hospital--it smells like one two three four bodies and blood dried on the floor his blood their blood he can hear them screaming for help he's supposed to help why didn't he help?_

_(I see a world on fire.)_

_No, he feels a world on fire blood running through his veins burning like acid fever turning his brain to ashes his heart beating fast between his ears pulsating his breath coming shallow somebody's speaking but their words are echoes someone wants him to calm down this isn't right he's not bound he's not trapped in damp and cold he's terrified and he's not in the right wrong place and somebody touches him and he's going to kill them he's going to fucking tear them to pieces and they're going to tear at him right back electricity and one overpowering smell and one overpowering taste it's like nothing it's like being dead when they tie him up he can hear his bones shifting under the ropes he's supposed to fight he's supposed to fight he's supposed to fight so he lashes out but the Murdock boys ain't the only ones with the Devil in them--_

_(Most people just call me Matt Murdock.)_

+

Murdock wakes up screaming and snarling, clearly in pain, clearly used enough to the pain to writhe and fight and tear his stitches and rip his IV out of his arm. He's bleeding everywhere and Bruce and Sam are trying to calm him, but Natasha can't imagine that Murdock (known as Matt, apparently, as far as she knows) is registering anything but his own fear, his own fight or flight reflex. He's terrified. There are tears leaking out of his eyes, tears of pain and panic, and Steve reaches out to him before anyone can tell him not to and gets a fist to the face for his trouble.

Steve winces, takes a deep breath, and moves forward again.

Natasha hates watching people get held down, but sometimes there's really not much else to do. Matt's going to hurt himself if he keeps moving like this, and Bruce is still preparing the sedative.

Steve holds him down by his shoulders, and Matt's been captive for months and in any case, Natasha doubts that he'd be able to throw Captain America off of him just by struggling even at full strength. Not even she can do that.

Once Matt figures out that he's not going to be able to move effectively enough to escape or hurt anyone not himself, he changes. He goes completely still, and then he tries his best to curl in on himself. Steve lets him go and Matt curls onto his side, still aggravating his wounds, still apparently not caring, and covers his ears with his hands, shuts his eyes tightly, probably to try and hold back tears. It’s not working. He's still panicking, Natasha can hear him hyperventilating from where she is and he’s shaking again. He threw the covers off of himself.

He's mouthing something, though he's not actually saying a single word out loud as far as Natasha can tell.

She looks over at Clint, who's looking at Matt's lips closely. She nudges him so that he’ll look over at her, and mouths, "Told you it wouldn't be pretty.”

And Clint says, "He's saying the Lord's Prayer."

+

They take turns sitting with Matt. Natasha’s not actually surprised. The others are bleeding hearts, that’s why they do what they do, and they can’t stand to see somebody suffer, especially not a good man, because even though some of them don’t particularly approve of Daredevil’s methods, they can’t deny that it’s most likely that what he does comes from a good place. Comes from wanting to protect people. They can all understand that.

Matt doesn’t wake up very often, and when he does wake up he tends to panic for a while before curling into himself and ignoring everything around him, hands over his ears. Bruce keeps him mildly sedated after the first time he woke up and ruined most of his stitches, and nobody’s really sure what to do with him. They’re definitely not taking him to a hospital now, not with the state he’s in, not with how aggressive he can be even in the state he’s in.

He’s scared. Natasha understands. From what she can tell, they really did a number on him. Natasha’s been here before. She’s been silent and scared and she’s lashed out at anyone who tried to help. She was never quite like this, she was never as panicked as him, at least not visibly, but she does understand. More than one of them do.

Thor sighs from his place next to her. He’s been watching Matt carefully, cataloguing his injuries.

“What do they think of people like him on Asgard?” Natasha asks.

“What do you mean?”

“People who break like this. Who get destroyed. Can’t imagine a society of warriors would feel much sympathy.”

“Natasha,” Thor says. “Even the greatest warriors can break quite completely. Over time, in a Kingdom such as mine, this is something that we come to accept. Most warriors who go through something like what our friend has gone through—well. Many of us break in this manner many times. Those who break, they are never the same. They are tired, but many of them survive, and their lives are whole. This is not true for everyone, however…” Something troubled flickers through Thor’s eyes, and he clears his throat uncomfortably before continuing. “Our friend’s mind has been lost, yes, but over time he shall find parts of himself, and he shall repair himself, even if he is more fragile than before.”

Natasha sometimes forgets that Thor’s a smart guy, through all of his exuberance and occasionally jockish behavior. She forgets that Thor’s old, that he’s got a thousand years on her. She nods. “People get better. Even humans.”

“Midgardians are some of the most resilient beings I know,” Thor responds.

“Yeah. We’ve got that going for us.”

“We saved this man’s life,” Thor says. “And now it is our duty as warriors to help him regain his spirit. He has the spirit of a warrior. He would not have ended in this position if he did not.”

“Yeah,” Natasha says, leaning back in her chair. “I guess he wouldn’t have.”

+

_Matt can hear his heart beating, he can hear lots of hearts beating, and he can hear a machine—a machine beeping, shrieking, keeping in time with his heart._

_Vital signs, Matt has vital signs, and the revelation confuses him because he feels—_

_He feels—_

_He’s become a ghost, maybe, or his soul has escaped him or maybe is hiding somewhere in the knot in his stomach, the bile rising up his throat._

_It hurts. He can feel his whole body throbbing and burning and even the air against his skin is a torment. He kicks off whatever’s covering him and he’s cold so he curls up. He’s awake, now, he thinks, or he might be dreaming again, dreaming of the city’s beating heart outside the window it’s asking for him it needs him but the air doesn’t smell right here it smells like medicine and fabric softener._

_It’s all washed out here he’s washed out he doesn’t know what to do if he’s supposed to move if he’s supposed to fight he is not bound he is not bound and nobody’s hurt him yet they must be planning something special—_

_His mind wanders and finds its way into the muddle of sounds around him and the lungs of the person near his bed expanding and the taste of copper in the air, his own blood, the smell, the taste of death—it’s gone and he doesn’t know why, he doesn’t know why, he’s been waking up in a dreamland for months now but it’s different this is different he doesn’t know if it’s good or bad because good and bad have blurred and everything’s just suspicious._

_Matt is shaking and it hurts, his body is stiff and sore and the tears running down his face are acid and he shouldn’t be crying, he shouldn’t be crying, he’s not supposed to be weak, he spent so much time being taught not to be weak, so much time, and now all he wants to do is blend into the whirlpool of smells and tastes and sounds and touches of the rest of the world and disappear._

+

“Matt?” Natasha asks. “Can you hear me?”

He’s awake. He’s awake, shaking and crying, but he’s not full-on panicking, and that’s something. His eyes are open and his hands are over his ears again, he’s curled up again, and it’s a familiar position, and his breathing is shaky and shallow but steady enough, and he’s not screaming. This is the best he’s been in a week.

He lets out a whimper, the first real sound Natasha’s heard him make that isn’t screaming. He’s terrified, but he’s always terrified, and at least this terror is simmering instead of boiling over. He hasn’t tried to get out of bed, hasn’t tried to attack Natasha, though, granted, he probably thinks she’s going to attack him.

“Matthew?” Natasha asks.

Matt tries to make himself smaller, and it must hurt, because his breaths have started hissing painfully through his teeth. He presses his hands harder against his ears.

“You’re in Avengers Tower,” Natasha says. “You’re safe.”

For the first time ever, Matt responds to something she’s said. He shakes his head, a tiny movement. He doesn’t believe her.

“We’re not going to send you to the hospital. We’re not going to hurt you. We’re going to help you.”

For a while, Matt just breathes and doesn’t do anything, stays as still and silent as possible. After almost half an hour, he opens his mouth. Then he closes it and Natasha tries not to be disappointed before he finally says—mouths, actually, because no sound passes through his lips, “Really?”

“Really,” Natasha says. “This is real, Matt. We’re going to help you. I know everything seems like a lie right now, but I’m not lying. I don’t care if you believe me or if you don’t, because I know it’s true. I’m not lying. You’re in Avengers Tower, you’re safe, and we’re going to help you.”

Matt does nothing for a long time, but just before he drifts back to sleep, Natasha sees him nod.

+

Matt’s gotten a little calmer. Not truly calm—he still panics when he wakes up, and he still curls in on himself protectively, and he still doesn’t say much, but he’s not usually aggressive anymore, and his panic is less likely to get him sedated so that he won’t rip his stitches or otherwise hurt himself again.

Natasha spends a lot of time in his room, reading and watching TV on the computer and chatting with the others. She’s always been a very patient woman. Sam spends a lot of time in the hospital room too, checking Matt's vitals and touching up his stitches, changing his bandages with nimble, practiced hands. "Easy as one, two, three," he says about treating injuries. "It's impossible to forget how to do these things. At least none of his limbs are blown off, right?"

Natasha laughs at that, even though she really shouldn't, because Sam laughs first.

Natasha talks to Matt when he wakes up, and sometimes he responds to her. Usually not verbally, but there’s some recognition. Not much. He’s not even close to being okay, not yet, but it’s not as bad as it could be. Natasha’s not an optimist, but she always knows the worst case scenario, and most of the time, even particularly shitty situations aren’t it.

Matt gets confused. Sometimes, even when he’s relatively responsive, he’ll start shaking and looking lost, and Natasha or one of the others have to remind him where he is, and then the shaking gets a little less violent. Natasha’s perfectly aware that Matt doesn’t feel safe here, but she hopes he at least knows that he’s safer than he was, because if he doesn’t he’s in worse shape than she thought. He prays often, never saying the words out loud.

Clint says they should get him a rosary, because that’s what he’s doing, praying the rosary without a rosary. Natasha nixes the idea for now at least, because she knows that Matt could end up strangling somebody with one of those (not to mention himself), and she doesn’t want to risk it.

Sam also talks to Matt every once in a while, murmurs to him to keep him calm, especially when he's touching him, hands all business, but with a perfect understanding of Matt's aversion to touch, even in sleep. “You’re gonna be okay,” Sam says soothingly, and Sam’s got the talent of making that sound like it’s true.

“Why are you hanging around here so much?” Sam asks one day when they’re both in the hospital wing.

“Why are you?” Natasha asks, even though the answer's obvious, given that Sam has more medical training than Bruce, though Bruce is the one who's a little better with the stable hospital environment, given how Sam's more used to treating people in hot zones. She's mostly buying herself time.

Sam chuckles, unimpressed by her halfhearted attempt at deflection. “Come on, Nat. I’ve spent a lot of time in hospital rooms. I’m used to it. Besides, it’s a good idea to have me around. None of you guys are trained like I am. I was Pararescue for thirteen years, and a social worker for three.”

“Yeah,” Natasha says, perfectly aware of that. She says, carefully, “I’ve known a lot of people like Matt.”

“Do you relate?” Sam asks. “To what happened to him?”

Natasha smirks bitterly. “Don’t play shrink with me, Wilson.”

Sam grins shamelessly. “Worth a shot.”

Matt lets out a distressed noise, starting to pant. Another nightmare, then. He has them all the time, sometimes three times a day or night. “Stop,” he mutters. “Stop, don’t, don’t, don’t.”

Neither Natasha or Sam wake him up. They don’t until he starts tossing and turning violently and aggravating his injuries. All of the Avengers have nightmares, and usually it’s not a good idea to wake any of them up unless it’s serious. There’s always the chance one of them will get aggressive. They all have before. It would probably make more sense for Matt to be strapped down, but none of them have the heart, and their two medical professionals suspect that Matt might actually hurt himself worse if he was physically strapped to the bed, given that when they'd found him he'd clearly dislocated more than one bone more than a few times.

Matt wakes up after a few minutes, gasping, eyes wide and panicked. His breathing gets faster. He brings a hand up to his face, runs his hand over one of the bruises. He starts rocking back and forth, small movements, but they seem to make him feel better.

“Hey, Matt,” Sam says easily. "It’s seven o’ clock in the morning. You’re in Avengers Tower. This is Sam Wilson speaking, you might know me as the Falcon, and Natasha Romanoff is here too, and you might know her better as Black Widow. You’ve been here for nine days.” This is Sam’s usual spiel when he’s around when Matt wakes up, the days the only things that change.

Matt doesn’t respond.

“Are you in any pain?” Sam asks.

Matt still doesn’t respond.

“Matt?” Sam prompts. “You in any pain?”

Natasha’s sure that Sam’s perfectly aware that Matt is in pain.

Matt shakes his head a little.

“You sure?” Sam asks. “You’re off morphine. We can get you a couple of painkillers.”

Matt shakes his head again. He chews on his lip for a good minute, face almost as blank as usual but with a spark of life that makes Natasha smile. “Sit,” he says very softly.

“You wanna sit up?” Sam asks, looking vaguely pleased. This is the first time Matt’s requested anything.

Matt nods reluctantly and then turns onto his back, wincing.

Natasha pushes the button on the bed that raises it up, and once Matt is in a reclined sitting position he leans his head back against the bed. He looks exhausted. He’s rubbing his fingers together.

“How do you feel?” Sam asks.

“N-no,” Matt says. “No pain.”

He’s lying through his teeth, but Sam ignores that, used to losing battles. “I mean how do you feel. How’re things in your brain?”

Matt doesn’t respond, just turns his face away from Sam’s voice.

“Okay,” Sam says.

Matt breathes in shakily. “No hospital,” he says.

“No hospital,” Natasha agrees. “You’re in the hospital wing in Avengers Tower. A separate room and everything.”

Matt nods a little, still with his head turned away from Natasha and Sam.

“Bruce is a doctor, but he’s a good guy,” Natasha says. “You okay with him checking a few things? Sam'll help too, he was a combat medic.”

Matt’s breath hitches, and then he seems to deflate. He nods.

Natasha remembers that, being passive so she wouldn’t get hurt.

“Thanks,” Sam said, and then he shoots Bruce a text.

Bruce is in the room in ten minutes. “Morning, Matt,” he says pleasantly. “How’d you sleep?”

Matt shrugs.

“I’m gonna check your vitals,” Bruce says. “Okay,” he says once he’s done. “Not too bad. Pulse is pretty high, blood pressure’s a little high too, and you’ve got a low fever. Lungs are okay, you’re not wheezing as much as you were, I think the bronchitis is passing. I’m going to have to check your wounds, now, do a few basic scans.”

Matt shakes his head and wraps his arms around his stomach, hunching his shoulders.

“We have to make sure nothing's infected and there's only so much Sam can glean from the naked eye,” Bruce explains evenly. “And we have to put ointment on them.” They’ve been doing that while Matt was passed out, something that Bruce tactfully doesn’t mention, but he’s going to have to get used to it now that he’s conscious more often and not sedated most of the time.

“I-I’m fine,” Matt mumbles, but he lets Bruce do a few scans over his wounds with one of those handheld contraptions Tony's so fond of making, and only starts protesting again when Bruce gives him the all clear on infection and says they can change his bandages now.

“You can’t stay in the same bandages for two days straight,” Sam says.

“You know that,” Natasha says, because she’s sure he does. She’s seen his scars, and not all of them can be from the past three months.

“Look, we all know how to change bandages and put on ointment,” Sam says. “Would you feel safer if someone other than Bruce did it?”

Matt doesn’t say anything, just shrugs. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, right,” Natasha says, snorting.

Matt finally turns his face towards her again and points at her.

Natasha’s a touch confused. “What?”

“Her,” he says.

“You want me to change your bandages?” Natasha asks.

Matt nods.

Natasha shrugs. “Sure thing.”

She helps him out of bed and they get to the bathroom connected to the hospital wing without much of an issue. Matt stumbles a few times, and he’s walking slowly and carefully, but his physical wounds are getting better at least.

+

_Running water. It pounds down into a bathtub, crashes against the sides of Matt’s skull._

_Matt. Matthew. Matthew Michael._

_He’s been called by his name a lot in the past few days. (Nine days, the man said. Sam, his name’s Sam, Matt finally remembers. Sam Wilson is a name Matt has known for a long time, but he can’t remember how.)_

_For a long time—or it might not have been long at all, time waxes and wanes and one minute drags on infinitely and one month becomes nothing—Matt was afraid he’d forget his name. He kept saying it to himself: Matt. Matthew. Matthew Michael._

_Matthew Michael Murdock._

_(A masterpiece of alliteration, Foggy says, laughing.)_

_Matt has spent a lot of time inside of himself, has always had the ability to disappear without even moving his body. Matt curled up in his head while screams rang in his ears—they thought they’d blocked out the noise with the blindfold, probably, wrong, wrong, wrong—and while hands wandered and while lines were cut into his back._

_The truth, though, is that even when he shuts himself down there’s still enough of him feeling what's happening, senses alive with horror, and after a while the screams force him out of his hiding place, the screams and the pain, and then he’s screaming too and he shouldn’t do that, he shouldn’t, he fights against it but it starts hurting less after he screams—_

_Sorry, sorry, sorry._

_Matt wants to beg for help, but he can’t, he can’t say a word, he asks them to stop but they don’t listen whenever they stop they just come back and eventually he realizes that this is the rest of his life this is it it’s ending here._

_Matt, calm down, a sharp voice says, and he knows this voice this is Natasha (the itsy bitsy spider went up the water spout) and Natasha, she’s not one of them, can’t be one of them, there weren’t any women._

_Matt sometimes wonders if he’s imagining things. Sometimes he heard things, when he was chained, sometimes he heard voices echoing in his head, Foggy and Karen and his dad but they’re gone, they’re all gone (though that—that might not be true, he forgets)._

_You’re crazy, Claire says in his head, resigned fondness dripping from her words like honey._

_That was a joke, funny because it was true._

_Loud._

_It’s loud? a voice injects itself into his consciousness, a voice he doesn’t know, a voice he does know._

_He doesn’t think he said that out loud, doesn’t know if she saw into his mind and took out that thought, but that doesn’t make much sense, he doesn’t think that makes much sense._

_How’re things in your brain?_

_Matt doesn’t know, and that might be the problem._

_The water’s not running anymore, and Matt’s shrugging out of his clothes and trying not to feel nauseous at the way the pain burns his whole body to ashes._

_Someone touches his shoulder and Matt feels a jolt of panic jump to his throat as he twists away from the touch and presses himself against the concrete wall—_

_Concrete. He feels something cool and smooth behind him, smells the soap and shampoo in the air, tastes the cleaning products they use._

_Oh._

_It’s Natasha, he’s told. I’m not gonna hurt you._

_She says it like it’s a fact, and something about that makes Matt’s chest get a little less tight._

_The ointment put on his wounds is slimy and unpleasant and Matt doesn’t like it, doesn’t like being touched either, and it makes the cuts hurt less but it feels like a layer of grease on his skin._

_He doesn’t know what’s put on him to protect his stitches, but it’s uncomfortable too, a layer that rubs against him painfully._

_He doesn’t think too much, when he’s bathing. A bottle is pressed into his hand, and he opens the lid and puts it to his nose. The smell of fake strawberries and chemicals and he’s reminded, he’s—_

_He knows someone who uses this shampoo._

_(It’s absolutely women’s shampoo, Foggy says. But why should I care?)_

_He squeezes some into his hand, rubs it into his hair. The foam runs down his shoulders and rises through the spaces in between his fingers._

_The warm water is soothing, and Matt runs his hand over his chin._

_(He looks better shaved, one of them says._

_Matt tries to turn his face away, but somebody grips his chin, turns his face forward, and then he can’t move because if he does the razor will just end up cutting his face.)_

_Stubble. Not too much, but more than he usually has, and the truth is—the truth is that when it gets too long it itches and burns against his hands and he doesn’t like it._

_I d-don’t…I want to…he starts, but the words die in his throat and are eaten up by the steam around him._

_What is it? Natasha asks. Just say it, it’s not a big deal._

_Shave, he says, because one word is enough, all of his words trip over each other and he hates it._

_(Dude, it’s fine. Just take a deep breath and try again.)_

_Got it, Natasha says. Though I gotta say I don’t think anyone’s gonna let you do that alone._

_Th-that…he starts, and then he takes a deep breath. That’s stupid._

_Natasha lets out a laugh that’s more like a breath. You can shave after we get you dried off, she says, sounding just as businesslike as Claire when she’s doing this._

_Cover your eyes, Natasha says._

_Won’t change anything._

_Natasha laughs. It’ll still hurt if shampoo gets into your eyes, dumbass._

_Matt feels a smile flicker across his face for just a second._

_Matt puts the palm of his left hand over his eyes and Natasha pours a cup of water over his hair and rinses out the shampoo. It’s easier to breathe with her hands running through his hair, not touching his skin, not really._

_He pushes her hands away when she tries to help him out of the bath and carefully gets out himself. She hands him a towel and he carefully tries to drag it over his skin, get rid of all the clinging moisture. Water drips from his hair and he can hear it patter against the tile floor, the drops bursting when they hit the floor. He hears Natasha’s breathing, her lungs expanding, her heart beating steadily, and notes that her bones are unbroken._

_He manages to get on boxers before he feels dizzy and he sits down on the closed toilet. He bows his head because it feels heavy, and Natasha takes off whatever it is that’s protecting his stitches and wraps bandages around his torso tightly. Matt can hear his bones grinding. Two broken ribs, still healing, four hairline fractures (three ribs and his jaw)._

_He manages to get back into his shirt and sweatpants, and he leans on Natasha until he’s finally in bed again. He guesses he’ll shave tomorrow. There are hearts pounding in the room and one of them is his and they all become the pounding in his head and the sounds and smells of the city and the feeling of the blankets on top of him bleed into his skin and he presses his hands against his ears and hums until the sound and the feeling of his vocal cords vibrating thrums through his body, until it's the only thing he knows._


End file.
